


written in the walls

by Gildedstorm



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, currently a very odd collection of character tags, datacrons are suffering, dw broonmark I love you still, hopefully someone that's not broonmark?, in which I have a lot of fun with game mechanics, obligate carnivores have a hard time okay, who will I write about next
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-10-31 02:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10889790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedstorm/pseuds/Gildedstorm
Summary: Even for Sith, there are some days that are not marked by betrayal, or violence, or death, that are just ordinary. Or well, ordinary enough.Fragments and scenes frommake a fury of methat aren't quite big enough to be posted alone.





	1. dubious companion decisions

**Author's Note:**

> I finally decided I had enough (read: 3) small fics about rkorya and her crew to warrant posting a collection of them. these will probably be less serious in general, and on occasion veer into toying with mmo mechanics, since I find that kind of thing fun to poke at!

They’re halfway through a prison courtyard when Broonmark pauses, disentangling his claws from a droid’s torn cabling. Rkorya turns, bemused – it’s not like him to lag behind, even for a moment.

<Sith hunt goes well,> he offers, glancing around at the surrounding carnage. It’s true that they’ve been making good headway. The Talz might not have been used to fighting droids, but she suspects he would prove equally fierce no matter the opponent. He lacks finesse – an undeniable fact that Quinn has already disparaged at length, if only where Broonmark can’t hear – but his sheer, overwhelming love of bloodshed is what makes him so capable. It’s something they share, and the true reason for why she recruited him, rather than the appeal of having a tame monster.

Still, he plays the part well. Having him voice an opinion unasked for is rare.

“It does,” she agrees. “There’s little in this area that could oppose the both of us. These droids were built to handle prisoners, not true warriors.” That gets a low burbling sound of agreement, but he still doesn’t move, so she tilts her head at him questioningly.

<Sith tasked us with healing. We do not object. Sith is leader of clan, we will follow. But.>

“But?”

<If Sith leader stops pouncing on enemies, will be easier for us to heal _and_ fight.> She raises an eyebrow, and he quickly amends, <If Sith pounces less. We know how it is to follow the hunt. But when we move to heal, and Sith is already pouncing again...> The subdued groan that follows is both resigned and regretful, and she can’t help her lips curling in brief, fleeting humour.

“I can see I’ve put you to a great deal of trouble, Broonmark.”

He shakes his head with an abrupt, almost frantic growl. <Trouble? No! We are not troubled. We belong to Sith clan, we fight for Sith, we die for Sith. The only trouble is when Sith bleeds, and we are not there to heal or bury our claws in Sith’s enemies.>

“That is indeed quite the predicament,” she admits. “Very well. I will try to do less... pouncing, in the future. I did promise you worthy prey after all, and there’s no chance of that if you spend your time chasing after me.” He nods, and she straightens up, igniting her lightsaber. “If that’s all, then I do think there’s a blockade over there requiring our attention.” The Talz’s relief at turning back to their primary task is almost tangible. It _is_ a shame though – running up to their enemies lacks a certain... impression. The growing look of terror as they realize a Sith Lord is tearing through the air towards them is something she’ll miss.

Well, perhaps she’ll permit herself a _few_ charges towards the enemy. Just the most challenging ones, where the advantage of surprise is most important.

Rkorya can’t complain about the suddenly timely healing, though.


	2. ~teamwork~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jedi Master Timmns starts having doubts about this partnership, and Rkorya starts having a good time, likely simultaneously.

“Sith? Are you there?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” the Sith says, and Timmns catches a note of what is _very_ barbed humour. “What is it now, Jedi? Or did you worry that I’d left?”

It would be something of a relief to not have to depend on her at all. The distance between them keeps him from sensing her presence, but he remembers what it was like back when he revealed his scheme – the heavy rage curling in the air like fog, her intentions in the Force poised like a crushing weight overhead. She’s _strong_ , and is still growing stronger. How many of the order has she fought and killed already?

But right now, it’s that relentless power that he needs. As long as their goals coincide, he can’t afford to dwell on just how monstrous she might be.

“Worry’s too strong a word. Since I’m the one organizing the itinerary, I thought I should check in – especially since you’d gone quiet.”

“I was delayed,” she says, offhandedly haughty. “Your Republic keeps beasts and monstrosities imprisoned for study in this sector. Quite a few have broken out.” He’s not thin-skinned enough to bristle at the implied accusation – he’s waded in murky waters for the Republic and the Jedi Order before, even if Belsavis is deeper and more tainted than most. There is nothing to defend here, and maybe they both know it.

Still, if she’s run into some of those imprisoned species, this might take longer than he’d thought. “I hope your delay was because you were going out of your way to avoid them. I don’t need an injured Sith as baggage.”

“ _Hardly_.” The projection is too grainy to tell – is she _smiling?_ Her voice has certainly warmed, as if a prison jaunt is just what she needed to relax. “I’ve never fought their like before – I had to see what they were capable of.”

“I’m glad at least one of us is having fun,” he says, settling on something wryly diplomatic. That she might have been delayed because she was actively seeking out and fighting the primordial _things_ he’d glimpsed lumbering about somehow hadn’t occurred to him. He bites back the urge to chide her for taking unnecessary risks – he’s forgotten how much enjoyment Sith could find in violence for its own sake. “Try not to let any of those monstrosities get too close – you won’t be able to handle Darth Ekkage if you’re missing a few pieces.”

“Why, thank you, Jedi. I’m sure I wouldn’t have figured that out on my own,” she drawls, and he winces – okay, so maybe that was a bit too obvious. Her voice hardens again, losing the amused edge.“Rest assured, I haven’t forgotten our objective. I will be there shortly.” With that, she closes the connection, and he stares at his comm ruefully.

This partnership isn’t an experience he’s likely to forget, if he survives it.


	3. talz superiority

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of the problems with Ilum can probably be solved by throwing a Talz at them.

Ilum is, Rkorya supposes, better than Hoth. Slightly less cold, though Quinn tells her the difference is a matter of a few degrees, especially when the wind is up, and at least it’s more interesting to look at. She never gets tired of watching the sky here.

Its beauty does little to keep her warm, though, and she regretfully pries her hands loose from her speeder’s controls, feeling the chill slowly but surely worm its way through her armour’s protections.

“This is as far as we’re getting today,” she says, and Broonmark grunts his acknowledgement, returning to her side promptly. He’s invaluable on a journey like this one, even if seeking out a lost datacron at the edges of Ilum’s mapped territory isn’t the kind of mission he’s interested in. With him scouting for shelter or safe paths, she can focus on simply moving forward most of the time, while he clears out any wildlife or intruders that might prove troublesome. “Have you found a place to make camp in?”

<Yes, Sith. It is not far. We will lead.>

It truly isn’t, but even the short walk is enough to make her wince, shrugging her shoulders and flexing her hands to keep her blood moving. Zabrak are not suited for cold like this, and while it’s survivable, it’s not _pleasant_. She regards the narrow crack in one of Ilum’s many cliffs with relief, even if it’s rather cramped by the time she and Broonmark settle down, heat packs set evenly between them. She grimly chews her way through a ration bar and some dried meat, and watches Broonmark delicately sip from his own rations. It always amuses her that someone so savage, so fierce a fighter, would be so dainty when eating.

Not that the Talz has a choice. Having a proboscis does seem to take a great deal of enjoyment out of food, though she can’t say that spending five minutes trying to eat a half-frozen piece of bantha jerky seems much more exciting at the moment.

With that out of the way, she tries to find a way to get comfortable enough to sleep, well aware that the heating packs won’t warm the cave enough for it to be safe to remove her armour. She’ll be stiff and aching in the morning – another reason to despise planets this frozen, especially when they’re also littered with Jedi.

Broonmark watches her shift around for several minutes before tilting his head. <Sith is cold?>

“What do you _think_ ,” she snaps, pausing in a futile contortion to try and keep her hands and feet warm and her armour from digging into her back.

<We can help keep Sith warm,> he offers. He correctly interprets her wary silence, raising a clawed hand. <If Sith permits?>

Rkorya has never been at ease with too much physical contact, not the way Vette is, and while her time with her crew has made it easier, her first reaction is always to tense a little. Especially when it is _Broonmark_ , who has honed himself into a predator and relaxes as rarely as she does, who sharpens his claws and is all sinewy muscle beneath his long fur.

But she is cold and uncomfortable and right now, sleeping a few hours rates as a higher priority than keeping her dignity unharmed. That he might slit her throat in the night is a very minute possibility at best. “Very well,” she grits out, and as he shifts closer, adds quickly, “Don’t tell the others about this.”

<We will be silent,> he assures her, with an additional low gurgle that she suspects is a laugh before he slides into the space behind her. He curls around her slowly, and the fact that he is so clearly trying to be careful is what soothes her enough to lean back against him. As she suspected, he’s far warmer than her, and after the first nervous moment where she is acutely aware of his head above hers, every shift of his muscles as he settles in place, she relaxes enough to begin to be comfortable.

<Better?>

“Yes,” she admits, unable to even be grudging about it. “Much. Thank you.”

<We are glad,> he says, speech rumbling down through his chest now that she’s close enough to feel it. <Sith gave us home and clan. It is our honour to help, now and forever.>

If they were elsewhere, and her hands and feet weren’t aching dully, perhaps she would be capable of responding to that as gracefully as it deserves. As it is, she tips her head back and closes her eyes. “You better not move around much in the night.”

<We will not,> he promises, and now she is sure he’s amused, and not trying terribly to hide it from her. <Sleep, Sith. We will hunt well when we wake.>


	4. the price of completionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a few datacrons that enhance one's natural abilities, Rkorya assumes, will be a simple task. It very quickly proves to be far more trouble than it's worth, but she's committed now, to her crew's (and especially Vette's) dismay.

“So, you really think there’s one around here?” Vette asks, glancing around at the ruined buildings and impact craters, her lekku betraying a trace of nervousness. Rkorya can’t blame her for not being at ease in a warzone. “I mean... there doesn’t look like there’s much left of _anything_.”

“There is. I can sense it,” she says, and that skepticism is then turned on her.

“This isn’t like... a crazy Sith thing, is it? You’re not going to go mad with power, right?”

“I have too much to do to go mad with power. Help me find the easiest way up, will you?”

She does, if with enough choice words about Sith Lords who decide to leap around on collapsing buildings that Rkorya (generously, in her opinion) lets her keep watch from the ground as she tries to track down the datacron.

It proves more difficult than she’d expected.

“Having fun yet, my lord?” she quips when Rkorya misjudges the location once again and disgustedly drops to the ground for the third time.

“I can take you up with me, you know.”

“ _Please_ don’t.”

* * *

 

“So _when_ is that balloon getting here?”

Rkorya glowers at the distant blur on the horizon as she picks sand out of the grooves on her helmet. She doesn’t mind Tatooine, but she underestimated just how much sand she could pick up on a relatively simple journey. It really does get everywhere, and the effect is ruined if she has sand sifting back out whenever she moves her head. “At this rate, sometime in the next century. I believe I’ll ground it permanently when we’re done here.”

“You know, I’m usually not one for the rampant destruction kind of thing but... let’s do it.”

* * *

 

Whoever planted these datacrons across half the galaxy had an affinity for slow-moving transport. This kiosk is as garishly bright as everything else on Nar Shaddaa, and Rkorya has to hunker down to try and avoid being seen as it slowly – so slowly – drifts towards its destination. That she can hear the datacron’s song somewhere ahead, a melodic hiss that seeps through the Force, that hums of power and reverberates in her veins, only makes the wait more frustrating.

That, and she can see Vette amusing herself below her by mugging gangsters who’ve taken offence to her presence, and not being able to join in is almost as difficult to bear.

At the very least, she consoles herself, they’re both doing something productive.

* * *

 

“I _hate_ Quesh,” she snarls, stumbling back out as the gas – not poisonous enough to kill her, but certainly enough to leave her weakened – recedes from the room’s vents. She’ll be coughing for days.

“You and me both,” Vette says, handing her some water and hovering at her shoulder as she drinks. “But you’re not going back in to try again, right?” Rkorya meets her gaze steadily, though she has the excuse of trying to drain the entire canteen to keep from admitting to it. “...Right? Not going back into a poison gas room? Doesn’t that sound like a _good idea?_ ”

“Don’t mistake this for _enthusiasm_ , Vette,” she snaps, gesturing at the accursed room and losing her grip on her temper enough to let some power leak through. The panels crackle in complaint, and the pillars groan but hold firm. Beyond them, the barrier she’d been trying in vain to turn off flickers out.

“Okay, new plan! Next time you go hunting these datacrons, just be really angry and Sithy at them. I like this idea.”

She tries to clear her throat, and ends up coughing before she can try to speak again. “As... as do I.”

* * *

 

“Uh – nope. No. You _can’t_ be thinking of doing this.”

Below them, the lava pool hisses, and if Rkorya tilts her head at just the right angle, she can see the fragile bridge crossing it.

Whoever decided to build such a ridiculous way to get across, she has a mind to find and kill them.

“I’m not.”

“That’s _lava_ , you’ll – wait, you mean you’re not going to jump down there?” Vette asks, clearly relieved that she doesn’t have to try and bodily keep her from killing herself.

“Of course not,” she says, only mildly offended that Vette would think she was _that_ hungry for the power the datacrons offered. She pulls out her comm and contacts the Fury, ignoring the muttering behind her that Vette is purposefully pitching so she can hear it. “Quinn, patch me through to Imperial Command on Belsavis – I’m commandeering a shuttle.”

* * *

 

<We hunt these datacrons?> Broonmark asks, so hesitant about it that she already knows the crew has been talking.

“Yes. What of it?”

<Sith has been hurt before, hunting them.>

“The pain has been survivable and worth it, for the most part.” Though she doubts she’ll ever get the time she spent on Tatooine back. “Whatever Vette has told you about the lava – _Baras_ would have tried to make that jump,” she says, well aware this is not a winning argument and not even remotely true. Baras would have simply recruited however many acolytes he needed to fetch the datacron for him.

From the low grumble that gets, she suspects Broonmark is not convinced. <Where is our prey on Ilum then?>

“I believe the first one is on the outskirts of the Republic outpost. We’ll have to fight our way in and out.” Watching his three functional eyes brighten is heartening – she already regrets just how many planets she’s dragged Vette to for the simple purpose of strengthening herself.

<We thought it would be something _hard_. >

* * *

 

“The _one time_ you don’t take me along,” Vette says when they return to the ship, Rkorya still glowing faintly with power and only mildly frostbitten. “And you get the easy ones. You know she went through an incinerator once?”

“I _leaped_ through an incinerator. I was barely in it for a second.”

“I think it being an _incinerator_ is the important part here. _Please_ tell me that’s the last one.”

“That remains to be seen,” Rkorya says, crossing her arms. “Have you found any others, Quinn?”

“My lord, I regret to tell you that while I scanned Makeb and Rishi as you requested... it seems there are no energy signatures on either planet matching those of the datacrons. You’ve found all of them,” he says, straight-faced. She eyes him briefly, and then nods.

“Then we’re done here. Set course for somewhere _warm_ – I don’t care where.”

She might have found the immediate relief pouring off of all of them amusing, if she hadn’t been secretly just as glad to be done with this.

As she turns away, Quinn quietly deletes the scan results for the remaining planets. No sense in putting any of them to any more trouble, after all.


	5. rkorya 1v1s field rations

The campsite Quinn had prepared had been of decent size, but there is something about having a Sith in it that makes it seem smaller, barely capable of containing Rkorya’s abrupt, tense movements as she paces through and around. With Tatooine’s suns setting, there’s no question of making any more progress today, and for all that Rkorya is... impressively determined, she doesn’t even raise the idea of trying to push onward.

He had his doubts about Darth Baras’ apprentice at first. Not about her combat prowess, certainly, but Sith always came with a question of temperament, and he’d feared that she would prove either a callous brute or be more savagery than sense. She is certainly savage _enough_. It’s not her ferocity that impresses him – not entirely, though there are times when she whirls through the enemy, lightsaber never faltering and eyes flaring with rage, and he is struck by the honed menace of her presence like a blade pressed to his throat – but her _control,_ the tight leash she keeps on her temper. Even when provided ample provocation, as Vette proves time and time again.

While her tolerance of the Twi’lek’s constant disrespect is baffling, Quinn can’t deny that the consideration she shows her small crew is a... refreshing change from his previous circumstances. He knows too well how damaging a superior’s disregard or outright vendetta can be. Serving with a Sith who actively acknowledges his experience and listens to him could almost be a reward for surviving the extensive harm done to his career.

She has both the strength and the dedication to go far in the Empire. Stars willing, he will be at her back as she rises.

“You’ve done well, Quinn,” she says now, and he bows his head. “Efficient as always.”

“Thank you, my lord. It’s prudent to make camp quickly, on Tatooine – the nights are almost too cold to bear without some kind of shelter.” It’s also not the kind of planet one should go hungry on, but while he’s quick to reach for his share of their rations, she folds her arms, glowering fiercely at her own neat stack of them. “...Is something amiss, my lord?”

“Yes,” she says, and then pauses. “No. Wait here – this will take a moment.” With that, she turns on her heel and stalks out onto the quickly darkening sands. At the very least, she’s true to her word – ten minutes pass before he catches sight of her again, carrying something large but indistinct along through the air. Quinn’s suspicions are confirmed when she tosses it down triumphantly. Her prize proves to be a bantha calf, roughly half her size and _very_ freshly killed, judging from the smell of burnt meat and ionized plasma.

He’s eaten bantha before, of course, but never simply gone out and hunted one down, and it’s impossible to tell how much meat is actually on it beneath the long, shaggy fur. What’s worse, it could be hiding any number of things. Parasites, certainly. Stubborn diseases brought on by the arid heat. Of course, it’s a wild bantha – though really, would one from the Sand People’s herds be any more trustworthy?

“My lord,” he begins mildly. He has no intention of ruining their cordial relationship by fussing over her, but he has to say _something_. “Is this really necessary? I stocked up on rations before we left Mos Eisley, and we’re still well supplied.”

“Ah yes, the _rations_ ,” she drawls, an edge of amusement in her voice. “I have been eating those rations for _weeks_. I haven’t had anything grilled since we left Dromund Kaas, and it might be more weeks before we return. Let me enlighten you, Quinn; there aren’t many Zabrak in the Empire’s armies and navy, and not enough among Sith to warrant any variety in rations. So what we do get is barely worth eating, let alone for any longer period of time. They’re about as easy to chew through as a stone, _and_ a stone would have more flavour.” It’s an impressive tirade, and he has the feeling she has been rehearsing it but – no, surely not. “I am more tempted to use them as weapons than eat them. So,” and she draws herself up, eyes flashing. “I will be having the bantha.”

“...Very good, my lord.”

While he’s familiar with her file, he’s never given much thought to Rkorya’s actual age. After all, she is Sith – a Sith apprentice, perhaps, but Sith nonetheless, and the power that is her birthright means far more than any number. Still, this is the first time he can think of that she actively seems _young_. She is only eighteen, and for once he can see it in the warily defiant tilt of her chin, her crossed arms. Then the moment passes and she kneels down to begin dressing the carcass with the ease of long practice.

“I would only suggest a medical scan, once we’ve returned to Imperial space. There’s no telling what such creatures could be carrying.”

“Fine,” she says, agreeable now that the issue has been resolved. After a moment she glances up at him with a crooked smile, sharp teeth barely visible. “You could always try them yourself, if you doubt me.”

“There’s no need for that. You make a compelling argument, my lord – I am completely convinced.” He says it with a straight face, and the laugh it startles out of her might well be worth the airing of a dozen such grievances.

His luck truly has turned. He can only hope it will stay the course.


	6. in which a pet is acquired

“It’s certainly... big,” Jaesa says, nose wrinkling. “Compared to the ones we’ve seen on Tatooine.” Rkorya reaches out, and the womp rat sniffs at her hand, fearsome teeth almost touching her fingers. “And _not_ trying to kill us. Truly, I’m amazed.”

“This kind is bred for size, apparently,” Rkorya says, hiding her amusement. Quinn and Vette had both made themselves scarce at the thought of greeting her newest acquisition, which is fortunate – else the room surely wouldn’t have fit all of them. As it is, Broonmark is pressed close to the wall, with Pierce and Jaesa giving the womp rat – and Rkorya – plenty of room to get acquainted.

“And obedience, my lord,” Pierce chimes in. “Not vicious at all, unless you want it to be. The pest ones are smart enough – you can imagine what this one’s like.”

“It would have to be, to allow anyone to ride it at all.” It’s not, she has to admit, a _pretty_ creature. Ordinary womp rats already seem stretched thin by voracity, and this one seems, if anything, even leaner, all long limbs and taut muscle. Even its head is long and narrow, as if to not let anything get in the way of its protruding teeth.

There’s something stubborn about it nonetheless, a ragged sort of endurance, and it stands quietly alert as they talk, sizable ears twitching. Given its shoulder is even with her head, she somehow doesn’t think it’ll have trouble carrying her.

“We’re not keeping it on the ship, are we? It won’t take long for things to start smelling, and you _know_ the others will complain.”

<It will eat supplies, too,> Broonmark adds. <And armour. Weapons.>

“With how you lot are acting, you’d think we just scraped it off of Tatooine,” Pierce says. “It’s got a pedigree and everything.”

“It’s the _womp rat_ part that’s the problem. I thought if we were going to get an animal, it would be a tuk’ata, except –” Jaesa falters so suddenly that Rkorya turns to eye her.

“Except?”

“Except that with how busy we are, there probably isn’t that much time to train one,” she finishes, not nearly as smoothly. By now, she knows her well enough to sense the lie, but given the subject matter, Rkorya knows better than to pursue it. If it’s important, she’ll see just what Jaesa was covering up for eventually. “But I can think of other things more fitting for ownership than a giant womp rat. A kath hound, or maybe even a nexu.”

“I don’t know,” Rkorya says more slowly. “I rather like it.” She moves to rest a hand on its shoulder, and it turns its head, sniffing at her more thoroughly now. Its breath is warm and wet, heavy enough to stir her braids. Despite Jaesa’s concerns, she can’t say it smells all that much worse than any other beast, and at least its fur is short and dense. She’d never considered the problems of shedding in close quarters until Broonmark had joined up, and now the crew suffers through finding long, trailing white hairs in and on everything after he leaves the refresher.

From Pierce’s smug grin, there was a bet at stake about this. She’s quite sure she’ll hear Vette complain about it later. “Her, actually.”

“And her name?”

“She’s yours, my lord. You get to decide that.”

She sifts through her spotty memory of lessons from tutors she hasn’t seen in years. Her grasp of the Sith language is always rustier than she’d like, and she never has enough time to actually practice it, but it still serves well enough for picking a name.

“Sutta, then,” she says trying it out. The womp rat tilts her head as she speaks, but it’s not enough to pull her away from her curious inspection, now sniffing at her hands again.“And you don’t have to worry – she won’t be on the ship for long.”

“Bringing her to Kaas City?” Pierce asks.

“I can think of a more suitable place for a desert creature. Tell Quinn to set course for Imperial space – we’re going to Korriban.”


End file.
